Letter from the Other Woman III

(This is the final part of a three-part story. You can read the first part here , and the second part here ).

In spite of my growing jealousy, I’d panic every time he would mention that you two were having problems because I didn’t want you two to break up.

Then it would mean that I’d have to decide whether I wanted to be with him for real. And I didn’t want to be with him. By now, I was sure.

Whilst I wish I could say it was because I didn’t want to be a home-wrecker, which I didn’t, it was more because his being with me showed his home was wreck-able.

And I didn’t want to become another ‘If he cheated with you, he’ll cheat on you’ statistic. Yes, I’m ashamed to say my ambition had been reduced to not becoming a statistic… when I was already one.

Did the shame make a difference? No. There I was counseling Paul back into your arms whenever he was in a place where it seemed he would break up with you… whilst he was in my arms.

There was I temporarily withdrawing and breaking off communication with him whenever I felt he was getting too attached to me during one of your rough patches, only to run right back when it ended.

Once in a very long while, my near-dead conscience would draw from the last vestiges of its strength and reprimand me. But by now, it was so weak that a roll of my eyes returned it to its comatose state.

It fought valiantly. It just never won. It kicked and screamed when it noticed the time I spent talking with, thinking about, planning for and being with Paul exceeded the time I spent on everything else.

It reminded me that an idol was anything you put before God. I wasn’t even praying much anymore. I listened for a short while, and then gave it a generous dose of Valium.

What is the point of telling you all this now? Forgive my rambling. Poor man’s therapy, they say. But then again, being the psychologist, you know this more than I.

Yesterday, at 19:47 GMT, Paul got down on his knees and asked me to be his wife. He said he had asked you for a divorce and your response had been a resigned “ok”.

He said that your recent miscarriage had made him realize that if a child came into the picture, he would be stuck with you forever and it was me he wanted a forever with.

He said it was the worst acquiescence he had ever obtained and that the loud thud of a broken woman throwing in a towel heavy with her hot tears was not a very pleasant sound.

He said, “The worst part was that I couldn’t even hold her as her frail frame racked with sobs. All I could think was, stop crying so I can go to Gifty”.

He looked at me expectantly and I saw his heart sink from his eyes to the bottom of his stomach when he saw the horrified look on my face.

My comatose conscience miraculously leaped back to life and filled me with remorse deeper than I ever imagined a human could feel. I’d become the woman I said I’d never be; the home-wrecker.

The engagement ring, supposed to be one of the things a girl looks forward to most, slapped me like a glass of ice-cold water poured into one’s face at 4:00am on a cold Harmattan morning.

I sank deeper into the sofa. Good thing I wasn’t standing. Someway, somehow, I found the strength to pick up the ring, put it back in the box, and send him home.

I didn’t see that coming. I guess I should have known when he stopped talking your problems over with me. When he stopped getting angry at things you did.

Or maybe when he told me he loved me and instead of the usual “get away!” I found myself saying “I love you too” and he smiled as if he’d won the biggest ‘try-your-luck’ balloon.

Or perhaps even when he was in that recent car-accident and his siblings and close friends were calling me, not you, to ask how he was doing… but I didn’t.

I had received a transfer letter earlier in the day. I was re-locating to Brussels in three months. I told him I had a surprise when he came over and he said he had one too. His surprise was obviously bigger.

I never thought I’d be the other woman. I read my bible and prayed since I was a little girl. I still blush when a kissing scene comes on and I am not watching the movie alone. I’m no Delilah.

I had the Cinderella dream once upon a time and whilst I realized I’d let go of my happily-ever-after dreams when I turned 17, I never intended to take yours away… and certainly not this way.

I hear Paul never made it home last night. A drunk driver hit him, they said. The one time I decided to do right by you and Paul… and this is how it ends.

So whilst I’m the last person you’d want to hear from, I needed to confess my pending man-slaughter (I may as well have put a gun to his head if he dies) …and to explain the request for divorce …

… and why Paul insists on holding on to an engagement ring as he fights for his life in the ICU.

Gifty

Letter from the Other Woman II

(This is the second part of a story. You can read the first part here ).

I met Paul at a particularly low point in my life. I had just ‘broken up’ with the love of my life who claimed he loved me to bits but wasn’t good enough to date me. (Yeah, right!)

Of course, kind courtesy of ‘He’s just not that into you’, we all know it’s one of the oldest lines in the ‘Douchebaggery for Dummies’ manual.

I wasn’t looking for a relationship and I wasn’t looking for a fling either. I’m not that kind of girl, you see. Yet that first night, drunk on excitement and cheap wine, we kissed.

I apologized the next time we spoke, telling him I had a boyfriend and so we couldn’t go anywhere although I was sure he was a wonderful chap.

He also apologized and told me he also had a girlfriend so we could never go anywhere. This was you, by the way. It should have been the end of our story. Sadly, it wasn’t.

Many a boy/girl dreams of that friendship which defies all latent and overt sexual tension and remains a platonic, life-long friendship. We found we both had that dream.

Of course we could have been using it as an excuse to stay in touch, chasing the thrill of playing with fire and escaping unscathed. I don’t know. I am not the one with a PhD in psychology. You are.

Paul and I had this amazing conversational chemistry that I hardly find with others. Our phone networks definitely benefited from our virtual time together.

We could talk for four hours without a lull in conversation and resume two hours later groggy from sleep with a good morning text and text back and forth all day. O, the folly of youth! (Wistful smile)

And so I kept him around, for the witty conversation and friendship, or so I told myself. The lies we tell ourselves so we can sleep at night!

Every lady knows that the guy who can make you laugh more than anyone else in the world has your heart. I found our senses of humour were 97% compatible. Enough said.

And so the friendship deteriorated into friendship plus casual make-out sessions where you would disappear and all thoughts of the future would disappear too, for we insisted we didn’t want one together.

Time would however betray our lie. For as many who have tried to divorce biology from psychology have found, the heart, head and hormones rarely stay in their boxes when we separate them.

Whilst I convinced myself that I didn’t care that whenever we were together, he’d have to leave if you called, I found myself getting jealous whenever he left to be with you.

I found myself getting annoyed with him and myself whenever he would pick a call and end it with a smile on his face and it wasn’t you he had been talking to.

I guess I had accepted the hierarchy and that you came before me; but refused to share second place with anyone else. The depths to which I had sunk! I was jealously guarding my second-best position. (Stay Tuned) 

Letter from the Other Woman I

Dear Chrysta,

You do not know me but I know you very well. For whilst he cannot talk to you about me because you do not know I exist, I know you do and so he does.

I know when you have a bad day and when you get a promotion or raise. I even know when your PMS causes you to snap at him and throw him out of the house.

No, he does not come to stay with me. He calls but I turn him away. Nature has played this cruel joke on us where our cycles are perfectly synchronized. God has a sense of humor and the joke’s on us (him).

Oh, where did my manners go? There they are! I guess I should introduce myself. In case you haven’t already guessed, I am the other woman in Paul’s life. Or am I one of them? You never know these days.

I am not your average ‘other woman’. I am not trying to steal your husband nor get back at my father. I am neither a sex fiend nor exceptionally good in bed. He says you’re much better.

In fact, many a time, he comes to me complaining how you tired him out in bed, his half-hearted complaints belied by the fact that he is usually grinning like a Cheshire cat. You’re doing it right there.

My name is Gifty and like the name suggests, I am both gifted and a gift. Lead soprano singer in the choir, Sunday school teacher, CFA, and ladies wing vice-president are a few of the titles I can claim.

Over the weekend, I volunteer at a school for special needs children. They love me. Everybody does, including your husband but we will come to that.

If you are shaking your head whilst going through my profile and asking incredulously “…and other woman?” you are right. It does not fit in the picture.

But like I found out from my childhood obsession with picture puzzles lasting well into my teens, sometimes, not every piece fits... (To be continued)

The Icy-Handed, Unwelcome Visitor (Thief)

Death is never funny but here I am wishing, ten days after April fool's day, that my brother will apologize and say that it was a joke. Although It would be in very bad taste, I'd be too happy and relieved to scold him.

Even after confirmation from my mom, the news has still not sunk in... How can it? It's like being told the sun will not rise tomorrow. I am still very much tempted to call her phone to see if she would pick up and tell me it was just a dream... but equally scared that she won't pick up and I'd be forced to face the reality that she's really gone.

Something has fallen in my eyes, as is said in Akan, but tears are refusing to fall to clear that which has fallen onto my eyeballs. Who is dead? You may be wondering. If I said my grandma, it wouldn't be an accurate description... for she was more. 

Related by the blood of Christ more than anything else, this woman was my grandma, intercessor, advisor, you just name it. A mother to my mother for all the years I've been alive. Yet death, with impunity, just snatched her away this morning... I am sad... and I am angry... but mostly sad...

My only comfort is that she has gone to be with the Lord... May her soul rest in peace!

About that, I just have to ask... Will your family have that comfort when you're gone? I've been thinking a lot about this. Death has this way of punching you in the solar plexus with a reminder of the life hereafter... 

I believe it causes you to think even when you're an atheist or agnostic or say you do not care. For no one has come back to confirm that indeed this life is all there is, and religion is indeed 'rubbish' What if there's more?

Whilst we have life, we still have a chance to decide... Please think about it. After here, what next... And yes, if you ask me, I recommend Jesus...

Virginity versus Purity

An old post by Naijalines (Back door virgins) which I chanced upon recently got me thinking about an issue which interests me greatly... 

Especially in the light of a conversation I overheard recently where a girl was telling her friend how she was a virgin and got a phone call with her friend at the other end, asking which lubricant was best for anal sex. I don't know if she was advertising the sound quality of her phone that day, because the whole bus heard.

In high school, I wrote a piece about how many mothers were giving their daughters reason to believe the only reason they cared what they did with their sexualities was because they were afraid they'd contract HIV/AIDS or get pregnant and bring disgrace to the family. It's a sad truth in many homes and my problem was that I felt if that was really the issue, you might as well throw some condoms at your daughter when she turns ten or eleven and tell her to be careful. It was devaluing a mother's interest in her daughter's reproductive health to what society would think of the mother should her daughter get pregnant or HIV/AIDS.

In the issue at hand (Virginity versus Purity), my concern is that the idea of virginity is reduced to the technicality of having some sort of barrier (be it a hymen or unusual tightness) to bear witness to a purity which is often not there. 

At a Campus event, two years ago, a speaker ventured that the first kiss of any couple should be at the Altar. You should have seen the looks on our faces! It was like 'If that was the criteria, then we've all failed' And it was a Christian gathering. There is supposed to be 'Not even a hint' of sexual immorality amongst us and yet, it appeared impossible and ludicrous to us, in our day and age to expect that from us.

Another seminar I went to had the speaker asking us to guess the most asked question he got whenever he spoke to students about sex. You guessed right, 'How far is too far' was the question. The question although very valid exposed our hearts. We all wanted to know how much we could do and still be in God's good books. But then he asked us to think about the reason behind our boundaries...

This is what bugs me about the whole virginity issue. The only boundary appears to be a hymen... and I am not here to cast any stone because if this was the case of the Adulterous woman, I'd be one of the first to put her stone down and run home.

But seriously, when someone who has had anal sex, oral sex, boob sex, and many other types of sex you cannot begin to imagine acts holier than someone who has had penetrative V sex because she still has her hymen intact, it really bugs me. What's the point, really? 

The most valuable lesson on this issue I learnt, was from a guy who had managed with the help of God, to complete university an unkissed virgin. When I expressed surprise and admiration, he asked, aren't the lips part of virginity? To him, it was all about devotion to God and his future wife...

The question shouldn't be one of a hymen ('virginity') but one of purity of mind, heart and body, if indeed you are abstaining for religious reasons. And for husbands and families who demand blood on the wedding night and don't really care about the rest, seriously? I can have anal sex with a horse and you wouldn't care, so long as I produce blood on my wedding night? really?

If we're abstaining, let's be pure. If we are being responsible, let's go all out and get tested regularly and use protection at all times. If we're on the fence and playing the two sides, let's recognize our situation as such and stop acting holier than thou. 

Besides, if a hymen equaled holiness, it would soon be redundant, because didn't some plastic surgeon figure out how to recreate one? It's only a matter of time before we have 'virginity' for sale. Purity on the other hand, will never be for sale...

#JustSaying

Service to God... (Who said Godly men can't be romantic?)

On Thursday, one of the nicest things that ever happened to me took place. The guys at our campus ministry decided they were going to honour, appreciate and serve the ladies by hosting a dinner for us at the church premises. It was very aptly timed, Monday being valentine's day and all.

After coming down with single-itis on Monday and missing home a bit more than usual, this evening was just what I needed. of course, I didn't know until I got there and I very nearly cancelled my plans to attend due to a pending deadline. Thank God I didn't! It would have been a huge mistake!

It wasn't a bring your date kind of event. It was purely a girl's night out, hosted by the guys. We arrived to the sound of great music and entered to find a couple of guys on stage, serenading us as we got seated. There were guys ready to pull out our chairs for us and make sure we were comfortably seated.

The place had been beautifully decorated, with scented candles providing this calming fragrance and lighting. Apparently, the guys met earlier and ate so it would be all about us when we arrived. They were all dressed up for us in their tuxedos and what not and waited on us hand and foot. Before your water finished, it was refilled. There was more great music and a skit (their own rendition of Don Quixote).

Service was impeccable and we really felt pampered. Being the ladies that we are, we were only able to enjoy it for five minutes before we felt we should be helping and felt guilty we hadn't thought of anything for the guys. The guys stood their ground however and we could only sit back and enjoy, all the while plotting what we could do to make them see how very much appreciated they were.

Whilst I know this is a rare occurrance and savoured every moment as such, I couldn't help but think that this is perhaps the kind of gesture that revived the last glowing embers of a dying marriage. As we sat plotting how we could surprise them and make them feel equally special, the glow from our smiles could have lit up the whole state. It's truly the little things.

Dinner was a  three course affair and was kept simple. Salad, macaroni and cheese, and cake and ice/whipped cream. Believe me when I say it could have been gari and water and tasted just as good.

There was dancing afterwards and even that wasn't couple based so that everybody got to dance. We had the group dances and circles with a few dance lessons thrown in. I was grinning from head to toe by the end of the night... and I had some renewed faith in men. Maybe all is not lost after all... :) :)

The most beautiful part of the night? This poem they read out to us... I don't know who wouldn't feel loved and pampered and utterly cherished after hearing it. I will try and post the poem soon. For now, I say, Vive la chivalrie! and God bless our men :) :) :)

Bits and Pieces from here and there...

This is a rather random piece, with bits and pieces from all over...

# Lesson Learnt:

No matter how strong/hard you are, a broken heart must be given due time to heal. It should not be ignored, wished away, plastered over, prayed and fasted away, etc. Attempting to do so is like putting band-aid on an untreated sore. Sure, it will look pretty and put-together on the outside, but the wound festers within. 

# It is the 21st century but some people do not have the basic freedom to worship. The Bible is still a banned book in many places. Shame to those of us who have all the freedom and allow our bibles to collect dust on our shelves. Yes, I said us. I am guilty of this from time to time.

# Since my dreams of learning how to sew and become a closet fashion designer have been put on hold, I unleashed my creative juices on crocheting. Here is my first project *read the first project fit to be shown in public* 

# There is this issue that has been on my mind a lot this week. Your insight will be much appreciated.

Preamble: If you claim to love someone, you should either be able to accept them, with whatever religion they ascribe to, or leave them be. It is that same religion that helped mold them into the man or woman you met and fell in love with. 

Question: With Muslims believing 'Islam is the only true faith...' and Christians believing 'Jesus is the way, the truth and the life...', how do I promise to live with my spouse who I love and want the best for, accepting to never try and convert him/her? How do I say I love them, knowing(or at least, believing) the path they follow will not lead them to Heaven, Paradise, or whatever I believe man's ultimate destination should be?

(PS: I will not even attempt to extend this to friendship, that can of worms will be too big to contain)

Sharing My Man

There’s only one man I know who loves from head to toe
And not only that, even loves your soul
If he were just flesh and blood, he’d be called a toke
But believe you me, this man is no joke

He’s everything you could ever want in a man
And that place where most men seem to fall,
Happens to be this man’s greatest strength
This faithful man, He’s no ordinary man, at all

You see when I met this man, I was young
I needed protection and strong arms (He delivered)
Now, because he’s kept me, I’m strong
And still need protection and strong arms (He delivers)

I’ve outgrown more toys and boys than I care to count
And yet no matter how much I grow, I remain His baby
Helpless, naked, hungry, and vulnerable, no doubt
But in Him, I’m secure, fed and clothed in radiant robes

You see this man, bought these clothes with all He had
On the cross of Calvary, where He shed His blood
These clothes cost more than any designer brand
Yet I didn’t have to ‘pay in kind’ like with other guys

What could I ever want that this man can’t provide?
Lyrics? He wrote me a whole book. It’s called the bible
Cash? Jewellery? Shoes? The earth and all in it is His
Attention? He’s there 24/7 ever waiting for my call

If you’re waiting for a ‘but’, I’m sorry, there’s none
There’s rather an ‘and’ Yup, you heard right, there’s more
You can have this man too. And no, I’m not…
Suggesting a ménage a trois, Get your mind home

This man is Jesus and He’s amazing
He satisfies me in every way conceivable
But don’t just take my word for it
You’ll want to experience Him for yourself.

If He’s your man too, you’re probably nodding
If not what are you waiting for?
Get on your knees and tell Him you wanna know Him too
And He will take it from there
(Go on, you know you want to)